Were we music?
There seemed to have been a song there,
Writ in B7,
“Nobody Knows The Trouble I’ve Seen”
“Sitting On The Dock Of The Bay”
Now that I’ve “Walk(ed) Away” I am “Down In The Valley,”
Though “You’ll Never Find Another Love Like Mine”.
Posted in NaPoWriMo, Poetry
Tagged #napowrimo16, B7, broken promises, cheating, chords, coda, lies, music, napowrimo, poetry, sex, ukulele
Somewhere in the war between winter and spring waging in a backyard,
half scrawled promise against promiscuity that severed spider limbs from moth balls,
made mania from a mammoth making mischief,
contemplating meeting Mason in the immediacy,
lost between heartbreak and bliss.
Miss “cheevious” and chortling,
contemporary lost to mortality,
the stream that spit the consciousness on top of this,
that split to shift the depth of the problems he was having.
Last night I rode to my love’s house (she lives just down the street), and together we took a night on the town. First we went to the Erotic Heritage Museum (where she has worked, and where she still holds instruction from time to time) and heard a fascinating lecture on prostate massage – fascinating and informative, particularly considering my new line of work.
Posted in Non-fiction, Personal, Prose
Tagged cha-cha, dance, Erotic Heritage Museum, food, journal, Las Vegas, Love, Mailar, meringue, Mexican food, music, prostate, prostate massage, salsa, tacos, work
Junk was supposedly inspired by the 31p/31d prompt for August 8th, but then it became something very, very different. I’ll let you read it and figure it out for yourself. It was certainly fun to write, but I have to wonder why I have so much strangeness coming out of me and if I can write something without a weird twist in it.
Posted in #31plays31days, #31Plays31Days, Fiction, Plays, Prose, Theology
Tagged #31plays31days, death, immortality, Las Vegas, memories, memory, music, plays, possessions, storage, Sumeria, writing
I scrawled you beneath my skin in wedding cake and salvaged bits of cellophane,
Around my ring finger, a testament to temperment, a subtlety I had been lacking,
To drive a reminder that each bright eye and every coy smile that declares love had better be worth covering you over.
Impermanence, how long did I lavish over you?
Drinking to dull the remembrance of your record needle scratches across the grooves of me.
Each inking after you, a pale comparison to the single spin our circling did around each other:
And though there is my history now stuck unto my temple,
It is you that drove these tattooes into my testimony.
Posted in Love, Poetry, Slam
Tagged alcohol, art, Impermanence, Love, music, poems, poetry, records, tattoos, vinyl, wedding, wedding cake
Herein a nine alm aria,
Whose charity overflows despite a song of devastation,
That stuck six golden coins into a dish otherwise filled with copper,
A carload hash milieux,
That smoked out unsubtlety in fine-pressed strains of selfishness,
That tried to sing through the haze and got instead a swamp gas symphony of decay and floating debris and alligator’s indigestion,
Whose sweet voice atrophied in the dim lavender lamplight lovers come to loose themselves from each other under.
Posted in Love, NaPoWriMo, Personal, Poetry, Traditional
Tagged aria, charity, Love, mistakes, music, napowrimo, orchestra, poetry, symphony
“So, till the judgment that yourself arise,
You live in this, and dwell in lover’s eyes.“-Shakespeare, Sonnet 55
How many times have tapped keys cut the silent night seeking an immortality – because sonnets and scripts have a sorcery to them that hold sway beyond bloodlines brokered, beyond “I do” before God and man and here I find that my seeking has been done for me and my actions cut a path and a swath that signals out in the thumps of heart-throbs of every single jilted lover that I have longed for, abandoned, and been abandoned by.
Posted in Love, NaPoWriMo, Personal, Poetry, Slam
Tagged Alabaster, Calcite, Dizziness, Gypsum, Habit, healing, heart, heartache, Hydrochloric Acid, Jester, life, Lilacs, Lingering, Love, Malice, music, napowrimo, passion, poetry, Revenge, sex, Shakespeare, Solace, Sonnet 55, Sonnets, Tempest
Art bleeding out the pores,
The pains and joys that it’s expressing, flowing from out the core,
The wholly stock and store of a soul shaking itself from slumber,
Seeking in it a lesson to offer umbrage instead of lumber.
A stage set in its components, wood and screws and paint to sway perceptions of what would otherwise be malaise and restraints,
Seeking to stake a claim in saints and statesmen, a sinner or a psychopath sincerely, to make a statement:
Posted in Poetry, Slam
Tagged art, dance, joy, lies, maestro, music, orchestra, pain, painting, pride, sculpture, stage, theater, truth, writing
Rumors, delighting in humor,
Tragedy looming on the verges of speech.
Feet upon the stage, frantically making sounds of fury,
Signifying nothing when the lights come down for good.
Sighs, before the sun came up, painting paused,
For sucking and straddling and quiet cumming secretly backstage.
Posted in Love, NaPoWriMo, Non-fiction, Poetry
Tagged acting, building, cleaning, feet, fellatio, fury, light, money, music, night, orgasm, painting, rumors, sex, sighs, sleep, sound, speech, stage, stretching, theater, tragedy